


show me what i'm looking for

by butbythegrace



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alpha Roy, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, BDSM, Bondage, Bottom Roy Mustang, Face Slapping, Hair-pulling, Impact Play, Instinct Heavy, Knotting, Light Humiliation, M/M, Omega Ed, Power Play, Praise Kink, Sexual Content, Sub Roy, Top Edward Elric, dom Ed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:53:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24875704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butbythegrace/pseuds/butbythegrace
Summary: Alphas don’t beg. They don’t plead. And they surely don’t lie in chains for omegas.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Comments: 20
Kudos: 276





	show me what i'm looking for

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teandfailure](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teandfailure/gifts).



> Happy birthday! <3 I’m sorry this took so long to finish! 
> 
> Also thank you for running so I could feel brave enough to go for a jog lol
> 
> My time management is a joke and I'm Tired so this has not been edited as much as I'd like, but I'm rolling with it ✌️

The timing turns out to be perfect. They’ve had the date set for a week now, and the day-of has been particularly horrible, with meeting after agonizingly exasperating meeting. One would think older alphas would outgrow their incessant need to always be in the right and in control, but for many it seems that desire only grows stronger with age. Roy’s was a day full of disgustingly potent pheromones and a cringe-worthy amount of alpha posturing. It was the kind of behavior he expected from new recruits, not fellow officers, and his irritation with them is so intense he can still smell it on himself.

As a general – at least their equal, if not their superior - he doesn’t have a choice but to defend himself by asserting his own dominance. He knows he's playing right into their game and he hates it. He hates using his biology to get a handle on these men. He hates that he _needs_ it to be taken seriously.

His nose itches. He swears he can still smell them, as if their scents have embedded themselves in his nose. ‘I am older, I am bigger, my scent is stronger, yield to me!’

Roy swipes his nose across the scratchy wool of his coat sleeve. _Ugh_. Do those idiots not realize they haven’t matured a day beyond their initial recruitment? It isn’t any wonder it had taken them over thirty years to achieve what Roy has in half that. He’d fought to not roll his eyes what felt like every minute of the entire day, and still now as he walks home through the lamp-lit streets, the sky already dark.

He’s late. At least, later than he usually is. Thankfully Ed isn’t a stickler for time, unless it’s a stopwatch counting the seconds of whatever activity he’d demanded of Roy in that moment.

Roy’s only solace is knowing that upon arriving home, being in control is not something he has to worry about. He can discard the responsibility and worry and stress until he’s ready to pick them up again. It’s definitely going to take some work to bring him off his alpha high, but that’s a challenge Ed has always found enjoyable.

Roy’s skin prickles. He has a suspicion that it isn’t because of the brisk wind, but he hunches his shoulders to push his collar further up his neck anyway. He starts to walk just a touch faster. He doesn’t think he does that because of the wind, either.

He walks up the front steps and enters his quiet home. The curtains are drawn, the lights down low, and Ed’s scent lingers sweetly. Roy shrugs off his coat and hangs it, then ascends the stairs and heads down the hall to his bedroom. Though Ed’s scent is stronger here, he’s still nowhere to be found.

Roy knows what’s expected of him in the omega’s absence though, and so he steps up to the bed to consider what Ed has left out for him. The comforter has already been stripped away, revealing clean navy sheets. The duffel bag waits at the foot of the mattress, the robe Ed has picked for him carefully laid out next to it. It’s the white one with the red-marbled dye, and Roy hopes it’s a promise as to what his skin will look like by the end of the night. Beside it awaits the leather wrist and ankle cuffs, softened with use and trimmed in scintillating lace.

Roy removes all of his clothes and folds them into a neat pile on the chair in the corner, tucking his boots underneath the seat. He dons the robe, satin slipping over his shoulders, waist cinched and set with a tie of the belt. He leaves the cuffs on the bed for the time being and unzips the duffel bag to rifle through their collection.

At this point it’s become rather extensive. Sometimes it leaves Roy wanting to plan ahead and curate the exact experience he’s looking for, but on days like today he goes purely by what he feels in the now. He runs his fingers across the various shapes and textures of wood and leather, testing a few implements against the calf of his leg, searching for what he needs and what he thinks Ed would enjoy playing with, though the latter is really a moot effort. It goes without saying Ed loves anything and everything in this bag. He may have asked for Roy’s opinion a time or two during the process of purchasing or crafting some of them, but only he was directly responsible for their acquisitions. If asked to pick his favorite, Roy knows Ed would cheekily pick up the entire duffel bag.

Roy finishes making his choices just as he hears Ed’s booted foot falls start up the stairs. He drops the duffel bag to the floor, pushes it under the bed with his foot, and arranges the implements in the order he suggests they be used.

By the time Ed opens the door, Roy is sitting at the edge of the bed with his hands in his lap, head and eyes lowered, stomach twisted in apprehension. Ed’s scent now is different than the one he’d left lingering in the room. It’s lost much of its delicacy and is thicker, stronger - _dominant_ \- and the fine hairs on Roy’s body raise in an involuntary response. His throat works as he tries to stave off a growl.

Though surely Ed can sense that his hackles are up, he doesn’t show it. He also doesn’t immediately acknowledge or approach Roy either, instead walking past to the foot of the bed to inspect the items Roy has picked. Roy doesn’t look up and sees only boots and strong calves hugged by leather as they pass him by and come to a stop just outside of his view.

“Very nice,” Ed tells him after some consideration. The back of Roy’s neck warms at the praise, and he relaxes a fraction.

Ed picks something from the line-up. The sound of him casually smacking it against the palm of his hand sends a flash of nervous excitement down Roy’s spine, and it ripples outward as goosebumps down his arms. He keeps his eyes trained on the floor.

Ed steps close enough for Roy to catch the hairbrush paddle at the edge of his vision. He watches as it extends toward him and disappears beneath his own chin, pressing up until it lifts his face. He still doesn’t meet Ed’s eyes, doesn’t move from that pose while Ed slides the smooth wood along the edge of his jaw, and as the body of it passes in front of his mouth, Roy opens up and allows it to trail across his tongue. Ed’s breath hitches and he lets the implement linger there, lets Roy press his lips to the wood, lets the sweet scent of omega arousal wash over them both.

Roy finally dares to look up. Ed’s pupils are already blown, his lips parted and wet. His hand tightens around the handle of the paddle, and he uses it to give Roy’s cheek a light slap. The cool wood stings against his skin and Roy’s body thrills in response, his blood settling as a flush on his cheeks and an ache between his legs.

It doesn’t go unnoticed. Ed leans in, his neck exposed and tantalizingly close to Roy’s face, and uses his free hand to cup Roy through the robe. Roy sucks in a breath. Like this he can smell Ed straight from the source of his scent, sweet like freshly sliced cucumbers, but with a few notes of vetiver-laced aggression. Roy desperately wants to scent him, if only to selfishly comfort himself after such a lousy fucking day, but he knows his control is being tested, so he only allows himself deep, quiet breaths, hoping they don’t give away his desperation, but knowing it’s just wishful thinking.

“Don’t get too excited, Mustang,” Ed says as he squeezes the hand cupped tight between Roy’s legs, his voice wonderfully husky against Roy’s ear. “You know I like to make you wait.”

“Yes, sir,” Roy answers, a little breathless. As Ed pulls back, Roy barely catches the smile at the corner of his mouth before reflexively looking away.

Ed steps back and Roy hazards another sneaking glance at him. The years since the Promised Day have been good to him. They see eye to eye much more than they used to - quite literally - and Ed is just as solid and strong as he is beautiful. His braid is done loose but neat, and the muscles in his arms ripple as he replaces the hairbrush paddle and chooses the cane. Roy quickly reverts his eyes.

Ed steps in front of him and uses the cane to tap each of Roy’s ankles. “Put them on,” he orders. “And take your time.”

They’ve practiced it countless times by now, but this part still makes Roy nervous. If he’s perfectly honest, most of these acts still do, but some definitely get his instincts more ruffled than others, and this one is near the top of the list.

He finally raises his head of his own accord, eyes half-lidded as he tilts it to the side to present a column of vulnerable throat, and then he slowly blinks, reaching for reassurance. Ed doesn’t offer his throat but returns the sentiment with his own slow blink, and it’s all Roy needs to continue. He smoothly pushes himself further back onto the bed so his legs are stretched out before him, delicately crossing them at the ankle, pointing his toes.

Ed slips the cane behind him and taps the small of his back. Roy puts his weight into his hands and arches right at that point. Ed taps beneath his chin, and Roy closes his eyes as he lets his head fall back. He holds that pose, heart fluttering beneath his vulnerable rib cage, threatening to crawl up into his exposed throat.

The air feels sharp and cold on parts of his body that he never allows to be exposed to such danger. It’s moments like this that he swears the trust between them hovers so thickly it can be seen - a tangible thing Ed could wrap around his fingers and grip in his hand like a leash snapped to a collar around Roy’s neck, telling him to blindly follow every demanding flick of the omega’s wrist.

“Beautiful,” Ed breathes, and Roy feels blood rise to the surface of his skin. “Continue.”

Roy slowly resituates, sitting tall to free his hands, and then reaches for the anklets. He smooths one out on the bed next to his thigh, and proceeds to wrap the second one around the ankle crossed over top of the other.

The cane suddenly swats at his foot, startling him, and Roy is proud his reaction is no more than a sharp intake of breath. In his early days he would have bared his teeth and glared, and that was at bare minimum. He used to not even be able to put his binds on himself, let alone be admonished for his technique while doing so. It’s taken many sessions and countless acts of pain and praise to get him to this point. Ed loves a challenge, and Roy knows for a fact he’s been the best one yet.

“Toes pointed,” Ed reminds him.

A shiver wracks his body and his fingers start to tingle, but Roy does as he’s told, then latches the buckle. He recrosses his ankles and secures the second anklet. He does not forget to point his toes.

Then he slides forward, up to the edge of the bed, and waits. The cane lands lightly on each of his shoulders.

“On your knees.”

Roy slips off of the bed and down to the floor, lowering himself to his knees, tucking his calves and feet beneath him. He keeps his head bowed. It’s getting harder to keep his breathing under control, his racing heart echoing against the walls of his ribs, his hands and feet tingling as his fight or flight response ticks up another few degrees.

“Wrists.”

Roy raises his hands in offering, fingers together, palms up, only shaking a little bit. Ed wraps a cuff around each and latches them into place. He pauses for just a moment to rub his thumb over the soft skin of Roy’s inner wrist, and it’s soothing even though Roy is certain Ed is checking his pulse. With as hard as his heart is beating, Roy’s surprised he can’t just hear it.

Ed releases him. “Hands in your lap,” he orders.

Roy obeys.

“And look at me.”

Roy slowly raises his face and looks up at Ed through his lashes. Ed’s lips are parted, his cheeks lightly flushed. The scent coming from him is sweet, one of a pleased omega, and it settles over Roy’s anxiety and anticipation like a soft blanket. Even though it’s difficult to discern Ed’s dominance when his scent gets like this, Roy can still see it in his posture, feel it in his presence, solid and unyielding, a strongly rooted tree unimpressed with a storm the likes of Roy.

“I want you on the bed,” Ed tells him. “Lying down, on your back.”

Roy lowers his head and rises soundlessly. It’s taken a great deal of practice to not need his hands, to make an action that seems so simple and unimportant an act of elegance, and he’s proud of his effort, even more so of his success. Taking pride in what he does here has been immensely helpful in convincing his alpha brain to cooperate during acts it would normally rebel against participating in. Not that it rids him of his instinctive apprehension entirely, but at least it’s much quieter and easier to ignore.

Roy settles himself as gracefully as he can with his back against the sheets, and then splays his hands and feet out without being asked to. It’s a gamble – sometimes Ed is pleased by his willingness, other times he wishes to dictate Roy’s every movement, and Roy likes to gently test those boundaries before they get too far in.

Ed says nothing as he locks Roy in with a chain snapped to each cuff. They’re anchored to the underside of the bedframe with heavy eye bolts, brought out when needed and easily tucked away when not and sturdy enough that Roy wouldn’t be able to rip them free if tried. He can’t help but fulfill the need to pull at them and listen as the chains rattle against the wood of the bed frame, feeling the cuffs dig into his skin as he tests their limits. The sudden sense of restriction ignites that special brand of alpha anxiety born from the definitive loss of control. He’s completely at Ed’s mercy, and it’s as unequivocally thrilling as it is unnerving.

Ed doesn’t fuss with the restraints any further and turns his attention to a more pressing matter, which is taking advantage of Roy’s fresh vulnerability. He pulls the knot on Roy’s belt loose, gently parting the robe, letting the satin halves settle at Roy’s sides, leaving him open and exposed. His cock curves up toward his belly, already hard and aching in anticipation, and he has to bite back a noise that would have sounded pathetic at the feel of the silky fabric sliding past.

Ed, heeding Roy’s first pick, chooses the flogger. He drags it down Roy’s body, the black fringe ghosting over his skin, dipping into ridges of muscle, raising goosebumps in its wake. Ed slaps it lightly against the front of his thighs. It’s tantalizingly light and there’s not even a sting.

Roy whines. He knows he's asking for it. He does not care.

The flogger pauses. “Really?” Ed asks, his tone flat. “We _just_ started, and you’re already complaining?”

The next two slaps curl around each side of Roy’s rib cage with painful intent. The strikes are so quick and neat that he doesn’t even have the chance to flinch between them. Ed always wields with deadly precision, has always been a little too good at this, and Roy has mixed feelings when he considers why this is. They’ve barely discussed it. He knows there have been others, and that he’s Ed’s first fresh alpha, neither of which should matter; here and now, he’s lucky enough to be Ed’s, and the alpha in him and its possessive nature can go take a hike and contemplate the art of just being grateful.

The flesh over his ribs burns and Roy fights the urge to curl in on himself. It would be futile in offering any sort of relief or protection. The only thing that could bring either is acceptance, and he's already struggling to find it.

Ed presses the flogger handle underneath Roy’s chin and brings his face up. His golden eyes are dark and smoldering and utterly unreal. Being forced to look up into them while he’s in such a vulnerable state makes Roy’s skin crawl and dick twitch.

“Hush,” Ed says, then, “show me how patient you can be,” which stirs up that piece of Roy that desperately wants to prove himself, to be just what Ed wants to make him into.

It’s never been a surprise that Ed can always get what he wants. His ability to smoothly appeal to an alpha is unparalleled, and Roy really ought to start taking notes. It would probably make office days like today much more bearable, not to mention Roy often feels over-credited in his own efforts of manipulation. He’s good, yes, but there’s a difference between ‘good’ and ‘staggering’. Ed had manipulated an entire town right out of the military’s hands at twelve years old, and from that point on Roy had always known he would someday be the victim of his tactics.

He just never would have been able to predict it would be in this capacity. He still marvels at the fact that they’ve ended up here.

Ed draws the flogger back down Roy’s body, its threads cool and maddeningly gentle over his sensitive, aching cock. His hips twitch, seeking friction in soft fringe that offers absolutely none, but he stays quiet, and otherwise does his best to stay still. 

Ed continues his slow torture until Roy’s body trembles and burns, his glutes flexed tight to keep his hips from rocking, teeth sunk into his lip to keep quiet.

Ed pauses, and scoffs. “Leaking all over yourself and I’ve barely even touched you. How embarrassing.”

Shame coils in Roy’s belly as he’s overcome by the urge to cover himself and the inability to do so. He can feel the flush on his face creeping down to his chest.

Ed carries on with this gentle yet humiliating torment. The fringe traces Roy’s arms, tickles his fingers, and kisses his face, filling his nose with the sweet scent of leather. It’s all a part of Ed’s game of testing his control and the weaknesses beneath it. Ed knows just how to handle him, and even in these painful moments, Roy knows just how lucky he is to be taken apart by Ed’s capable hands. He’s never met another omega like him, and he doubts he ever will.

Ed has developed his own tried and true patterns, and Roy tries to let the vague bit of predictably comfort him. He knows Ed has laid him out to chip away at the too-loud alpha, gently at first, so as not to raise alarm. He makes Roy sensitive to and desperate for every little touch, teases him to the point he’ll gladly take whatever comes next, and then-

The soft _snap_ of a chain latch above his head knocks Roy back into reality. Ed releases each limb from their chains but Roy doesn’t dare move. Ed smooths a hand down his chest, letting it come to rest at Roy's navel, just above his dick. It takes everything in Roy not to roll his hips up and brush against the omega’s touch. Doing so would surely land him right back in the chains, same position, same leisurely-dealt misery, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t considering doing it anyway.

Ed smirks. He loves to tempt Roy on purpose, loves to dangle himself just within reach and watch Roy wrestle between his instincts and his need to please. Somehow Roy manages to keep ahold of himself long enough to pass this test, and Ed draws his hand away.

“Flip over,” Ed tells him. He tugs at the robe that has become more of a pretty backdrop than anything else, covering no more than half of Roy’s arms. “And take this off before you do.”

Ed steps away. Roy sits up, takes a deep breath before turning his back to Ed, and rises up on his knees. He rolls his shoulders back, allowing the robe to slip down to his elbows, then hazards a glance back at Ed, who’s watching him hungrily. His eyes comb over Roy’s body, his skin and scars and parts of him just barely hidden, and then they meet Roy’s. Roy can tell he wants to say something, to _touch_ , but the omega knows better. Roy fresh out of chains before he’s submitted can be a tricky thing to engage with, can send them in a dozen possible directions if not played carefully, so Ed patiently waits for him to continue.

Roy lets the rest of the robe fall away, lets it drip into a pool of silk on the floor, then slowly lowers himself onto his belly. It’s a bit more difficult to convince his limbs to stretch out to the reach of their confines this time – something about his back being so exposed rattles his core something fierce - but he manages it without too much delay. The sheets are a warm, rough relief for his purposefully neglected dick, so that’s definitely a plus, and it’s just enough to alleviate most of his newfound tension.

Ed snaps him back in and steps back to admire him. It’s still too early in this game for praise but Roy can feel it hanging between them, that empty space Ed wants to fill with it, but doesn't. He knows the alpha in Roy has become too alert. It would be like tossing a gallon of gasoline into a fire.

Ed grabs his ass instead, fingertips dimpling the toned flesh as he squeezes. He uses that hand to give each cheek a couple of slaps, cupping each and giving them a shake, then smacking them again. Roy knows these actions are related more to Ed not being able to keep his hands to himself over anything else, and the thought of it being _his_ ass that does that to Ed’s otherwise airtight composure makes him preen at the attention. It hits a highly primal part of Roy, Ed showing him instead of telling him. Before he even realizes what he’s doing, he bows his back submissively and presses his ass into Ed’s hand to encourage him.

Roy has _no_ idea where that came from. He's never willingly presented himself so early in a scene, but like many of the other things he’s learned, it just- _happens,_ on its own, which is a little more than embarrassing. Even Ed is taken aback, a noise of surprise catching itself in his throat, and it takes a beat longer than usual for him to pounce on Roy’s moment of weakness.

“You really are desperate for it tonight, aren’t you?” Ed chides, and that sting of shame flares again in Roy’s chest. He fights the urge to flatten his body back out, and the resulting tension leaves him in a low growl. He can smell Ed’s amusement.

“Don’t like that, do you? Being called out on how easy it is for me to have you like this.”

A shiver wracks Roy’s body. As uncomfortable as his very existence is in this position, he grits his teeth and wills his stubborn edge to get him through this.

Ed strokes a single finger down the curve of his spine. It may as well be a scalpel with the way it strings as it crests the knobs of each exposed vertebrae. “Imagine if someone else saw you right now. What would they think?”

A faceless line of uniforms and boots flashes before Roy’s eyes. The implication of Ed’s words doesn’t line up with the softness of his voice, and the juxtaposition unsettles Roy even further, curling in his belly like black smoke. It’s his body sending him a warning. He has to keep this feeling contained, keep it under control, or it will all go up in flames.

His jaw works as he listens to Ed pick something up, and then the smooth wood of the hairbrush paddle strokes down his thighs. It’s cold, and Roy shudders. He knows this will be the true warm up.

Ed taps him twice. “No counting, no timer. I’ll hit you as I see fit.”

Roy closes his eyes and steels himself. He’s not prepared for the hand that suddenly closes itself around the back of his neck and nearly leaves his skin and chains behind when his entire body jumps. These little doses of adrenaline are going to add up. He wouldn’t be surprised if Ed’s managed to calculate just how much each slight earns him.

“Acknowledge me,” Ed demands.

“Yes sir,” Roy grits.

The hand withdraws, but Roy can still feel it. He hasn’t been scruffed in some time and it leaves his brain a little bewildered and behind.

Ed doesn’t wait for him to catch up. The first hits are always the worst, and it doesn’t help that wood is a stinger, even after it absorbs enough heat to not be such a shock of cold. Ed starts slow but not soft, steady and even in his placement. His hands drop in occasionally and this time they _hurt_ , the calluses of one rough, the smoothness of the other sharp and bright. Roy walks the tightrope between the worlds of pleasure and pain, dipping his toes into each side, unsure of which will make him lose his balance.

Once he's deemed Roy warm enough, Ed swaps out his implement. He trails the tawse up and down Roy’s thighs, the stiff edges of the leather just barely scraping. He starts off stronger than he usually does, and Roy hisses in protest at the split strap bites at the tender skin of his thighs. He digs his toes into the sheets and stretches out his legs. He wants terribly to bend his knees, to bring them underneath his body and protect himself from this onslaught, but without much slack to his chains, it’s hopeless. He can only shift from side to side, whine, and make the most of the little breaks Ed allows for him to breathe and regather himself. 

Soon though the hits keep coming, steady and evenly placed. They’re not comfortable by any means, but they aren’t getting any harder. They just don’t _stop._

It’s another test. What is the limit of his control? Just how long will this alpha allow an omega to push him down?

Roy’s universe shifts the moment it starts to become too much. He feels the first claws of fear begin to tear their way out of his stomach and shudders as it drags itself up his body, settling behind his heart and throat and eyes. It’s the point where he ought to say something, give Ed a warning, give him a sign that he needs a moment to wrestle the beast back down.

Just a little more, he tells himself, rubbing his forehead against the sheets, panting between clenched teeth. Just a _little bit_ further. He needs to be good for Ed and so he can hold out until the end of this, he can _do_ this-

Until the next few slaps migrate down to the backs of his thighs, which Roy despises enough without already being on edge. He reflexively shies away from the next swing and it lands off the mark, snaking around the side of his hip where the sting is too intense for him to handle. In an instant it has him seeing red, and he snaps.

Roy _roars,_ thrashing with all his might, chains rattling when his hands catch at their restraints, fingers curved and rigid as if claws. His toes dig into the sheets as he messily struggles with all four limbs to rip himself from his bonds. They hold fast, their anchors deep and unmovable and more than capable of holding him in. The leather cuffs dig into his joints, their limits immovable. He has nowhere to go, and his aggression quickly begins to unravel into panic as he lets out a frustrated shout.

Even though he’s well and truly contained, it’s still a collective sight, sound, and smell that would make any typical omega immediately stand down, but Ed has never shown fear. He steps right up to the edge of the bed and slaps Roy across the face, bare-handed and filled with so much purpose it clears Roy’s head enough to both shut him up and shut him down. Though he still snarls and gives one last defiant jerk to his restraints, glaring Ed right in the eye, it at least brings his furious struggle to an end.

Where it’s most common for omegas to avert their eyes and shrink away, Ed steadily holds his gaze, unwavering and unafraid. “Get that alpha under control, Mustang,” he orders in warning. “I know you can do better than that.”

Roy growls. His body and limbs are still riddled with tension and ready to fight.

He’s fortunate Ed knows him so well. Ed’s eyes soften, and with his tone lower, gentler, he says, “You’re safe here. You don’t need it to protect you. Let it rest. Let go.”

Roy’s chest heaves. His body trembles. His head feels thick and fuzzy, and the heavy, almost suffocating sensation in the back of his throat makes him want to scream.

Ed blinks slowly. Roy pants and shakes and tries to return the gesture, but he can’t. His body just will not allow it to happen. His eyes continue to track Ed like a predator would their prey and still, _still_ this incredible omega stands his ground, showing no signs of apprehension or discomfort. If anything, he looks fascinated, as if Roy is a puzzle to be solved. 

Ed gives him a few more moments before he tries again, blinking slower this time. Roy grits his teeth, harnesses his control, and with one last shuddering breath, blinks back.

The tension between them finally drains away like water wrung from a rag.

Roy immediately feels the effects of his outburst. His joints ache, involuntary shivers wrack his body, and his face stings. Ed steps closer again, this time radiating comfort, and puts the back of his hand against Roy’s cheek. It feels lovely, cool and soft. Roy longs to close his eyes and lean into the touch, but it’s taking all he’s got just to let Ed into his space, and that will have to be enough.

“Okay?” Ed asks. Roy hears it for what it is, not an okay in agreeance but one of evaluation, a concerned checking-in.

Roy exhales shakily, and closes his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Ed draws his hand away, resuming his position. He wants to end this one on a good note, and Roy prepares himself for more.

The last of the lashes are more concentrated to the meat of his ass, and when they do drift towards his thighs, they’re more bearable. They’re still painful, still cutting into his concentration like a knife, and when Ed’s hand finally reaches out to stroke the welts on his skin, Roy hazards a quiet sigh of relief. Ed presses the length of two fingers across various areas of Roy’s ass and thighs, mimicking the marks left by the tawse, telling him without words where they are, though Roy thinks it’s just more of him not being able to help himself.

Having salvaged this moment to his satisfaction, Ed retires the tawse. Roy is still sweaty and shaky and more than slightly regretting his next pick, even though he wants its marks more than anything.

“I’m going to give you fifteen,” Ed tells him, tapping the cane against his ass, gauging the placement of his swing. “Consecutively. Hard and fast. You need not count.” He pauses with it pressed lightly to Roy’s skin, no doubt the point at which he aims to begin. “What’re your safe words?”

Roy’s tongue feels heavy, his thoughts a little clouded, and it takes him a moment to answer. “Yellow to pause,” he finally says. “Red to stop.”

“Good.” Ed smooths the cane over his backside. “Use them if you need to. I’ll be incredibly disappointed if you don’t and we have a repeat of whatever the fuck that was earlier. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Ed chambers his swing, pauses for just a breath longer than Roy expects him to, then hits him.

The first is jarring, as if it sends Roy’s soul a few inches outside of his body, only for it to ricochet back by the time the next stroke makes contact. From there he’s trapped, utterly possessed by blinding, white-hot pain as the strokes gradually make their way down his ass and to his thighs, Ed stepping the cane down his body like the points of contact are rungs on a ladder. Roy’s cries can’t even make it past his throat. The only sounds in the room are his choking and gasping and the breathy whoop of the cane as it arcs through the air and sinks into him.

There’s no point in screaming, or snarling, or fighting back, and so he does the only thing he can do: he accepts it, and finally, he fully submits. He gives up conscious control of his body and becomes a sponge that absorbs pain, visualizing it bleeding into his body like dye, soaking up the energy it sends into him and recycling it into an indescribable high.

He’s so gone by the fifteenth stroke he’s nothing more than a shaking, gasping mess. Sweat prickles his shoulders and lower back and completely soaks his hairline, the sheets gathered in his fists. His words have completely left him. He couldn’t have counted those hits if he’d wanted to.

The cane clatters against the hardwood as Ed drops it and sweeps in to grab Roy by the hair, pulling his head back and leaning down to seal Roy’s mouth with his own. Roy waited for this, worked so hard for this, and the contact is like a hot knife to butter, melting him at Ed's touch. He whines when Ed pulls away, whining into the inch of breath between them, eyes squeezed shut at the feel of Ed’s fingers tangled too-tight in his hair.

“Fucking _hell_ babe,” Ed pants, and Roy whines again as Ed pulls his head to the side so he can mouth at the scent gland behind Roy’s ear, and Roy is always at his most submissive after a caning so he easily lets him. It helps that up this close he can smell Ed’s arousal, smell the slick even though Ed is still clothed, and it makes his dick fucking _ache_.

With his hand still buried in Roy’s hair, Ed steps up onto the bed with his knees and brings Roy’s face to his crotch. Roy mouths at the leather and hardness beneath, longing to bury his face there and get high off of Ed’s pheromones, but Ed only lets him at it for a moment before he pulls him back by the hair again.

“Are you ready for me to fuck you?”

Roy ought to be embarrassed at how fast he nods his head, but Ed’s grip in his hair doesn’t ease and it’s a bit hard to be embarrassed about coming off as over-eager while the stinging of his scalp brings tears to his eyes.

Ed licks his lips. “Tell me.”

Roy’s brain struggles to find even the most simple of words and string them together into something coherent. “Please, sir,” he rasps. “I need you to fuck me.”

Ed gives his hair a sharp yank, and Roy yelps. 

_“Tell me,”_ Ed insists again. His other hand cups Roy’s jaw, forcing the alpha to look up at him. “Tell me just what you need, baby.”

Roy’s breathing escalates and he nearly sobs. 

Alphas don’t beg. They don’t plead. They don’t bow down or grovel on their knees. They also don’t get bossed around, chained up, and caned by their omega partners, and though there will always be a piece of Roy that feels wholly devastated when it comes to this, nothing can stop the flood of need that spills from him.

“I need your slick,” he says hoarsely. “I need your cock, your cum, your teeth on my neck and your hands wherever you want to put them, I want you to bite me, smack me, anything, please, _please_ just _fuck_ me, _please_ -”

Ed growls and claims Roy’s lips again, and it’s wonderful because this time he bites. The sharp pressure of canines scrape on his bottom lip as Ed pulls away.

Ed unsnaps the chains at Roy’s ankles and scrambles out of his clothes in the type of sloppy hurry Roy would easily be punished for. Once he’s fully naked, clothing and boots scattered wherever they happened to land, Ed slides up next to Roy, skin on skin, grinding his hard dick into Roy’s hip and grabbing at more ass and thigh, absolutely covering Roy in his scent while accommodating him to the feel of a dominant body so close to his.

Roy feels Ed’s hand slide straight from his body to Ed’s own. Still at the mercy of his chained wrists, he cranes his head over his shoulder to watch as Ed slips that hand behind himself, and when he brings it back around his fingers are dripping in his own slick. He smirks at the quickening of Roy’s breath, the widening of his eyes, and brings that hand tantalizingly close to Roy’s face. Roy’s sides heave, breaths deep and quick as he takes in the scent, salivary glands bursting at the nearness of it. Ed draws away and slips it back and between Roy’s legs, dips into the crevice of his ass, and finds him.

“You were so good,” Ed purrs, stroking there as Roy trembles, wrists pulling fast against their binds. “So patient, so resilient. And fuck, you’re stunning when you fight back, but you snapped right out of it when I asked you to. What more could I want from you?” He presses a slick finger into Roy, and Roy moans. Sparks of warning sluice up his spine and burn hot where they gather at the base of his skull. It isn’t always so easy to convince the alpha in him that this is a good idea, but that, he supposes, has always been a great deal of the fun.

“But you’re always willing to give more, aren’t you?” Ed continues as he works a second finger in alongside the first. There’s not quite enough slick, and Roy’s toes curl at the burn. “You would give and give and give, give me whatever I wanted as long as I asked you to.” Ed leans in, free hand pressing down on Roy’s shoulder, breath ghosting against the shell of his ear. “And right now, I want to hear you scream.” He hooks his fingers, the sudden, aggressive press of them unforgivingly perfect right where Roy needs it most, and Roy’s hips snap back onto Ed’s hand as his hands scrabble fruitlessly against the sheets. The cry it rips from his throat is nothing close to a scream, but nothing less than what Ed was searching for.

Warning bells blare at the back of his mind, telling him that this is a dangerous and terrible idea, but they’re buried far enough under a layer of carefully manipulated discipline for Roy to act outside of them. He convinces himself to sink that much further into submission, letting his limbs go lax but leaving his ass presented, and Ed makes an exquisitely needy sound at the sight.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathes. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

Roy whines. Ed’s fingers slip away, leaving him almost uncomfortably bereft. After a moment Ed brings his hand back up to Roy’s face, shining with fresh glaze of slick. Roy follows the brief, teasing swishes of his hand like a cat observing a bird, and Ed takes that moment to snag him by hair with his clean hand. He holds Roy steady as he wipes as much slick as he can onto the sheets below Roy’s face. 

Roy knows he’s drooling, can feel it running in a streak down his chin and neck, but he couldn’t give less of a damn. As soon as Ed lets him go, he dives in. He presses his face into the damp sheets, huffing, tasting, layering his scent on top of it, and its on top of his. He pulls at the fabric with his teeth until he’s able to gather enough in his mouth to suck, and the high hits him harder and faster than any drink or drug ever has.

He feels as if his head is in a bubble. He knows Ed is talking but hears just a constant murmur, aware only by Ed’s tone that his words are akin to worship. Roy barely notices when fingers slip back into him, the introduction of a third, or the careful way they spread and toy with him. He’s so far gone on chewing up the sheets that he also doesn’t notice when it stops.

He startles back to reality when Ed’s weight settles on top of him, and it sets his heart to thunder. Some piece of him desperately wants to whine and growl and whimper and buck, to unseat Ed and fend him off now that his legs are free, but he forces himself to stay relaxed and does his best to prove to his instincts that there are good things to be had here if he'll let them happen.

Ed’s hands grip his shoulders, hips rolling as he slides his dick back and forth along the cleft of Roy’s ass, then he shifts, pressing down on Roy’s back with one hand as he gathers more slick to stroke onto himself. There’s a blunt press to the pucker of Roy’s ass and he shivers, a low growl escaping without him meaning it to, his instincts leaving him torn.

Ed freezes, still just a teasing pressure against Roy’s body. “You good?” he asks quietly.

“Please,” Roy answers.

Ed pushes forward, pressing into him in one drawn out thrust, his grip on Roy’s shoulders tight and shaking. It punches the air out of Roy’s lungs, making him gasp for it. He can only relax so much of his body at once, and in return for letting Ed inside of him, he thinks he may be about to gouge holes in the mattress with his elbows. Ed keeps him pressed into the bed until he’s fully seated, trembling with his effort, then lowers himself down, a heavy weight on Roy’s back to keep him down. Ed’s hips feel wonderfully cool in comparison to the abused skin of Roy’s backside.

“You’re wonderful,” Ed whispers, running a hand from Roy’s shoulder, down his back, and over his ass, where he grabs a handful and braces himself there as he presses into Roy just a bit deeper, making Roy gasp and choke and grind into the bed. “You feel so so _good_.”

Ed’s chest burns against his back, sweat blooming on their bodies everywhere they touch. Ed pushes himself into a sit and adjusts his legs beneath him, the short, jerking slides of his cock as he does so teasing Roy’s back into a sway as he presses back onto Ed and moans.

“Look at you,” Ed murmurs appreciatively, grabbing at Roy’s ass with both hands, smacking Roy a couple of times before giving him what he wants and pressing in further, close and deep, and it feels like heaven. “God, your ass is so hot, your skin is literally _burning_ Roy, _fuck_.”

Ed’s been pulling him apart since the beginning and Roy is so close to coming undone, already wrecked before the ride. Ed’s scent alone is maddening - sweet content, luscious arousal, earthy power - and the base of Roy's still untouched cock tightens in response.

Ed pulls Roy’s hips up until he’s on his knees, dick and knot hanging heavily between his legs, and the change of angle has Roy seeing stars at the edges of his vision. When his eyes slip closed they crackle across his eyelids like static. His cock jerks each time Ed slides into him, knot bobbing in the open air, his body so confused by the misplaced stimulus that he isn’t sure if he wants to keep rutting back into Ed’s thrusts or claw away from him.

Ed reaches down and finally, fucking _finally_ wraps his hand around Roy’s cock, absolutely coating it in his own slick, just as it should be, and Roy greedily bucks into his hand without a care to the sounds he makes. So slick, so tight, so fucking _fantastic_ , just the right amount of stroke and twist. Ed lets him work off some of his tension, rewarding the slower, more controlled bucks of Roy’s hips with the answering grind of his own. 

Roy smells Ed’s slick everywhere, as if it saturates the very air around them. It radiates from where Ed had grabbed his shoulder, where he’d pressed down on his back. It’s all over Roy’s mouth, and in his hair. The thought that both of their asses have got to be dripping with it makes his lower belly tighten in that familiar approach of the edge.

As if he can sense it, Ed feels down to Roy’s knot, slotting his fist around as much of it as he can, and the noise that leaves Roy is definitely a sob. Christ.

“Come on, baby,” Ed murmurs in perfect mimicry of an alpha pitch drop. He reaches back with his free hand to stroke down the line up of welts he’d inflicted on Roy’s skin. “You tried so hard tonight and you want this so bad, I knew from the moment I saw you, so let me take care of you.”

“ _Ed_ ,” Roy pleads, his voice broken, one of his hands reaching out to grasp tightly to a chain as if holding on for his life.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you, I promise.”

Roy sobs again, his body going tight around Ed’s cock and rigid in Ed’s hand. He’s _there_ , right at the moment of no return, weaving back and forth at its peak, and when Ed presses his teeth to his shoulder - not hard enough to break the skin, but plenty enough to hurt - and cants his hips forward in a single punishing thrust, burying himself as deep as their bodies will allow, Roy tips over the edge and welcomes the fall. 

He comes on his elbows and knees, trusting Ed's hands to hold him tight as wave after wave of an almost frightening amount of pleasure threatens to wash him away. Ed rides him through the thick of it, drawing out every single one of Roy’s unguarded sounds that he can find. Ed's scent spikes, the approach to his own climax evident in his desperation, and he pulls out shortly after, going still and shuddering as he comes onto the curve of Roy’s lower back, keeping a careful hold of Roy's knot the entire time. 

Ed presses his forehead between Roy’s shoulder blades and takes a moment to catch his breath while Roy does the same, aftershocks continuing to roll through them in tandem as if they were still joined together. Ed's lips wander, kissing Roy’s spine, his shoulder, the spot where he’d bitten, making Roy shiver. 

“Someday soon,” he whispers in Roy’s ear, one hand still wrapped around his swollen knot while the other reaches out to clutch meaningfully to one of the chains still binding Roy’s wrists, “we’ll do this without these.”

Roy whimpers, knot throbbing in Ed’s hand.

Ed’s weight lifts from him as the omega rises to his knees. He runs his hand through the pool of his cum on Roy’s back, rubbing it into Roy’s skin, pulling a swathe of it around his hip to his belly, letting the scents of their release mingle. It’s just what Roy needs to let the alpha in him know he’s done well, his omega is satiated, and so he can rest. Ed’s hand follows his knot while Roy follows his instincts, laying down on his side as he would if he’d tied his partner. 

Ed leans over him, and with his other hand reaches up to Roy’s wrists. With a couple of swift, practiced yanks of the tabs and their buckles, Ed sets him free, and Roy leaves his shackles a different creature than when he’d gone in. He’s completely at ease, floating a few inches above his body, unminding of the omega who lies down at his back and puts his mouth to his neck. Ed kisses his arm, his shoulder, strokes fingers through his hair, and despite the strangeness of being the one who is cared for, Roy steeps in the gentleness.

When his knot has gone down enough, Ed finally lets him go. Then he manhandles Roy a bit, pushing him onto his belly and flopping down onto his outstretched arm, and Roy lets him as if it’s as easy as anything. He considers asking Ed to throw his automail leg over his ass, but decides to revel in the heat for the time being. With half his face pressed into the mattress he contentedly observes Ed, gleaming in gold, silver, and sweat, smile so bright he could rival the sun.

“Oh my god,” Ed laughs. “When you fuckin’- just fuckin’ _presented_ like that and I’d hardly even touched you- I thought I was gonna lose my damn _mind_.”

Roy offers him half a smile. “I was just as surprised as you were.”

“I could tell. You held out like a champ though, and I _cannot_ explain with words how proud I was.”

Roy snorts. “You could’ve tried.”

“We both know I wouldn’t’ve been able to bring you back down.”

He’s right, though Roy refuses to comment. 

“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” he says instead.

Ed shakes his head. “Don’t be. It’s fine.”

“You handled it really well.”

“And so did you, which is why you shouldn’t be sorry. We worked it out. And frankly, when you came home smelling like you were about to turn back around and go burn down HQ, I was ready for worse.” Ed eyes him. “You don’t think I’m disappointed, do you?”

Roy buries his whole face in the sheets in a rather obvious 'yes'. He feels the mattress dip as Ed props himself up on an elbow so he can stare down at him. “To want this at all, to be this – you’re unreal.”

“Says the omega who has slapped an alpha in the face on more than one occasion,” Roy says to the mattress. Ed scoffs and grabs the most gentle fistful of hair he had all evening, turns Roy’s face back to him, and sets him back down. He taps Roy's cheek with his finger.

“That’s easy stuff. It’s figuring you out that’s been the hard part.”

Roy isn’t quite sure in what context to take this, but subspace leaves him with his barriers down, and it seems the first direction his brain wants to run with is guilt for being so difficult. He knows it’s written all over his face - or at least the half Ed can see - and Ed’s eyes widen. His hand closes around Roy's wrist and it does something funny to his heart.

“And I mean that in the best sort of way,” he adds hastily. “Trust me when I say I’ve loved every bit of this. Sometimes it isn’t easy. Sometimes I leave here scratching my head and feeling a little lost. But from the very beginning you’ve given me your all, and you’ve made me want to give mine, too.” Ed’s thumb rubs gentle circles into Roy’s wrist, tender from the force of his outburst. He won’t be upset if it bruises. “Admitting you have limits isn’t giving up. It isn’t weakness. It’s helping me give you exactly what you need. It’s the whole reason we’re here.”

Roy hopes enough of a flush lingers on his skin for Ed to not notice the fresh wave he’s hit with. He blinks up at Ed as sweetly as he can. “And here I thought you actually liked me.”

Ed goes noticeably red. He looks like he wants to yank his hand away, but he doesn’t. “I- you-“ He looks off to the side. “You know what I mean. _Here_. Doing- this.” He briefly lets go to gesture to the mess of a bed, the cuffs and chains and implements strewn about the sheets. “Think of how far you’ve come. Just getting the cuffs on you took getting used to. The first time you were chained up you lasted, what- five minutes?”

Roy remembers that night well. It had taken months of work, of building trust between them and Ed figuring out just which buttons to push. Roy will never forget the first time the last chain was snapped into place. He’d clung to the hands of his bedside clock like a lifeline.

“Not even that,” Roy tells him.

“With the fight you put up I’m fucking shocked you could keep track.” Ed gives his wrist a squeeze before withdrawing. He pushes his bangs back and his grin is beautiful in its honesty. “Don’t get me wrong- fuck, just thinking about how eager to please you are- constantly showing me new little tricks-” He shakes his head, still grinning. “You’re amazing. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Roy is too spent to consider pushing back, so he quietly accepts Ed’s reassurance. He’s also too spent to consider getting up - his muscles and joints ache, his skin burns, and he's exhausted from the sheer mental drain - but Ed has other plans. He hops up on his knees and gives Roy’s ass a couple of encouraging pats. They're gentle, but it smarts anyway. “C’mon. There’s gonna be a bath with your name on it.” 

Roy gives Ed a flat look. The ‘good luck convincing me I have energy for that right now’ look. The 'if you want me to move you'll have to carry me' look. He's half tempted to suggest it, but he knows Ed would rise to the occasion without hesitation. They've never done that before and Roy fears what his reaction may be, and that he might sour this moment. He files the idea away for a later date.

Ed leans in close so Roy can smell him, sweet but strong, warm breath so near Roy’s neck it makes him shiver. “Let's go, babe. The lighting in here is shit and doesn’t do these gorgeous stripes justice.”

His appeal hits its mark. Knowing just what comes next – Roy arched over the edge of the tub, ass and stripes on display while it fills – Ed’s hands all over him, the feel of them over the welts on his skin – is enough to make Roy’s heart stutter. He wobbles from the bed, staggering in his lightheaded eagerness, and Ed, as he so often does, reaches out to steady him.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to visit me over on [tumblr](https://butbythegrace.tumblr.com/).


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